Green thumbs

It’s day five for me at Number 27 and its starting to feel more like a home. Not an actual home, mind, just like one. Every morning I wake up a good couple of hours before my flatmates and sit in the front room and have breakfast, a cup of tea, check my email, the news, and make touch ups to this blog. I quite like having the mornings to myself.
One thing that has helped me feel at home is the new garden. The day before yesterday, I went home to pick up some more stuff, see my cats (oh, and my parents and boyfriend too, of course…) and watch Doctor Who. You know, the important things in life. Anyway, mum and I went to Bunnings and we came back with armloads of baby seedlings and compost. I filched some old pots and planters that were lying around the house and together we set to potting them up. Now, we have half a dozen basil plants, some pak choi, a capsicum, a lettuce and some silverbeet (which unfortunately looks pretty sick as we just transplanted it from the garden). They’re all lined up where they can catch the morning sun. Just like me, actually.
Not only that, but the flatmates seem to be getting into it, too. About a week before I moved in, Deborah set up a container garden stuffed with spinach, lettuce and tomato, made from half a huge plastic drum. Those ones are already thriving and I reckon we’ll be having ’em in the kitchen in no time.
I’ve had a garden pretty much my whole life. No, that’s a lie; my parents have had a garden my whole life, and I’ve just sat back and reaped the benefits. The result of that is, now I’m out on my own I can’t bare to be without one. So what if it’s all in pots – that just means I can take it with me when I leave. I don’t know why more people don’t have gardens. There’s something so immensely satisfying about growing and eating your own produce… I can hardly wait!

Hello, Number 27

It’s a bright, sunshiny day and I’m sitting in my new lounge at Number 27. After so many months and years of procrastination, I’m finally out on my own. It’s an odd feeling – all my things are here, my clothes, my bed, my computer, but it doesn’t seem real yet. It feels as though my old life is simply superimposed over the old one. I feel as though I should be living out of a suitcase, but I’m not. This is me, for the next few months at least.
The move itself was smooth as custard (well, smooth as custard I didn’t make at least) and I had all my belongings – three carloads and a trailerful – shifted into the flat in no time.
No, the scary bit ws the morning before the move. I woke up, a little scared and excited about finally leaving the nest. I woke up to a text from one of my flatmates saying they’d been broken in to the night before. Her keys had been taken, along with a laptop, a portable hard drive and an iPod with speakers.
Ah.
Suddenly staying in my cozy little nest seemed far more appealing. I had always known break-ins were a distinct possibility, especially in a studenty part of town, but it’s just that much worse when it actually happens. I arrived with my stuff at the same time as the man who changes the locks, and the police are expected some time today to fingerprint the door we think they came through. I say, what an adventure…
I’ve decided it might be an idea to get insurance and a wheel lock for my car and that sort of carry-on… Hello, realities of life.
Last night passed without incident though, and now I can get down to enjoying my morning. The All Blacks took out the Rugby World Cup last night, in what I’m told was a real nail-biter of a game. Rugby’s not really my bag, but there is such a thing as national pride.
Anyway, another reality of life is that I need to eat, and as of right now I have no food whatsoever. Time to go to the supermarket, methinks.
Hello, Number 27.